


Whatever Keeps You Sane

by dentrag



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: "Battle fatigue", Angst, Drabbles, Gen, More characters and relationships added with future chapters, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 12:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentrag/pseuds/dentrag
Summary: The war is endless. The cycle of charging, clashing, and bloody hand-to-hand fighting is without end. It will never stop.A series of drabbles about trauma, 'battle fatigue', and showing vulnerability to others.
Kudos: 8





	Whatever Keeps You Sane

The bandit screamed at the top of her lungs, spittle flecking the ragged sleeve on her raised sword arm as she charged Linhardt in the narrow defile. He stumbled backwards over the scree towards the bridge, dodging the slash by sheer luck as he tottered. With all of the focus he could spare, one hand raised and he reflexively went through the gesture he had been forced to practice for years of his young adult-hood. As the bandit pressed the attack, screaming a slur in his face, the Nosferatu went off, and the bandit’s screaming took on a different tone while she went runny around the edges, taking one last swing at Linhardt as he felt power and vitality surge through him. With a sort of wet noise, the bandit collapsed into a bloody heap that was becoming more puddle-like by the second.  
  
Linhardt stumbled, falling backwards on the sloping ground. Even as the boy fell, he couldn’t look away from that corpse. His fellow Black Eagles were rushing past him, he knew, but his world had contracted to the melting corpse of the bandit. He had done that. He was responsible. He could taste bile on his tongue, and, just for a moment, he turned away to throw up over the stones, dirt, and dust.  
  
“I… I killed them. What have I done? The blood…” He muttered, sitting there, guilt filling him. There was a tap on his shoulder, and Linhardt looked up to see his professor looming over him.  
  
“Are you all right, von Hevring?” Same dispassionate tone as the classroom. It was almost enough to ground him. The professor glanced at the puddle of dead bandit, and at the spreading pool of blood around her. “It was you or her.” Linhardt gulped.  
  
“I… Does it get easier, professor?” Something flickered across Byleth’s face. Sympathy, or perhaps pity, Linhardt thought. A single, slow nod from Byleth, before they spoke.  
  
“It does. But you’ll wish it hadn’t.” Again, an emotion flickered across Byleth’s visage. Sadness, or perhaps despair – and then it was gone, replaced again with that same distant stare. “Now, come on, get up. The others need you.” Linhardt nodded, grasping the professor’s outstretched hand and allowing himself to be pulled upright. The battle awaited him. Caspar was engaged in a struggle with a spear-wielding bandit, and he hastened towards him, not seeing the stare the young professor was giving him.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise not all of my works are going to be about sad people.  
  
I can't say how long this work will be, as long as I can think of material there will be more chapters.  
  
The quote in the summary is from Total War: Warhammer (Specifically, the skill Deadly Onslaught), and the tone of it was melancholy enough to get me thinking of this work to start.


End file.
